New Shoes
by Andraste
Summary: Charles Xavier cleans his boots.


I kicked Challenge in a Can (http://www.dymphna.net/challenge/) until it  
gave me Charles Xavier, tragic, boots. The tragedy here is a little muted .  
but hey, the story does as the story will.  
  
Disclaimer: Property of Marvel Comics, not yours truly. Feedback to  
andraste@bigpond.com or on the list, whatever you prefer.  
  
New Shoes  
  
By Andraste  
  
Charles Francis Xavier had been brought up as a gentleman, and although that  
was an antiquated notion in the latter part of the 20th century, there were  
certain things that had stuck. He placed a high value on table manners. He  
always ironed his shirts. Until recently, he'd opened doors for people  
without being asked. His mother had also taught him to clean his shoes  
before he wore them, so they'd stay unscuffed for longer. It was sensible  
advice.  
  
Charles had bought his new boots months ago, but with one thing and another  
he hadn't gotten around to cleaning them and breaking them in. He'd worn  
the old ones on his last trip because he didn't want these ruined in the  
snow - a wise decision, in spite of the way the other pair had leaked. He  
would have had no boots at all now if the new ones hadn't been preserved in  
his luggage.  
  
The polish Charles managed to find in the cupboard wasn't *quite* the right  
shade of brown. A bit too dark. He frowned at it, annoyed by the  
imperfection. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers. The cloth was just  
right - worn to softness and marked with enough stains that he didn't feel  
guilty about making a mess with it.  
  
In part, this was a good excuse to sit on the balcony in the sun - he wouldn  
't risk polish on the carpet that way, although he still had to watch to  
make sure that he didn't get any on his pants. The ritual was soothing in  
the late afternoon warmth. This was a welcome and ordinary thing to be  
doing.  
  
By the time his companion was ready, he could almost see his face reflected  
in his shoes. Well enough to shave, he thought with a smile. He wondered  
if he wanted to shave yet - it would be another sign of returning normality.  
Then again, Amelia liked the beard .  
  
The question was left unresolved when his lover came to rest against the  
door frame. He turned his head to look at her, and couldn't help smiling.  
Amelia looked gorgeous wearing a dress and all polished up, although she  
couldn't often be persuaded to bother. "You OK?" she asked.  
  
He tried not to resent the question. "I'm fine. I have clean shoes." He  
brandished them like a trophy, and she grinned.  
  
"Hiking boots?"  
  
"Well, it's not as if I'm going to get any other use out of them." He  
managed to keep his tone light. Charles knew it would be strange to turn up  
in a shirt and tie and hiking boots, but he had a feeling that people would  
try hard not to look at his feet from now on. Besides, he liked them. He  
hadn't spent all that time finding a good pair so they could sit in a box  
forever.  
  
"They're lovely. Need a hand putting them on?" Casual, just like the  
suggestion that they should go out for dinner in the first place.  
  
He thought about it for a shade too long. "Yes, I think I probably do."  
Charles was glad to find that admissions like that hurt less and less as  
time went by. It was a small consolation.  
  
She dropped to her knees, pausing to kiss him on the way down. Amelia had a  
way of turning every bit of nursing she did for him into foreplay. It was  
something he appreciated about her enormously, although he had to wonder if  
he was wearing some of her lipstick now. He wasn't sure he trusted her to  
tell him.  
  
Charles did his best not to wince as she lifted first one leg and then the  
other and put his boots on - he'd told her that he preferred a little  
discomfort to being handled with kid gloves, and he'd meant it. At the same  
time he took a moment to pat his pocket and check that his painkillers were  
present and correct.  
  
Later, as they left for dinner, Charles took a deep breath and hoped that  
no-one would notice that someone else had tied his shoes.  
  
The End 


End file.
